


The Prime's Intended

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: 'Secret' Relationship Made Public Without Consent, Big Awful Public Wedding AU, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Sticky Interface, Original Character(s), Paparazzi, Post-War AU where Optimus didn't die, Public Relations, Self Confidence Issues, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “A photographer spotted us leaving your quarters this morning.”In which paparazzi out Ratchet and Optimus's relationship, their PR consultant plans them the biggest and most extravagant public wedding they never wanted, and Ratchet has to deal with suddenly becoming the Prime's conjunx-to-be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a loooooooong time since I wrote a multi-chapter fic for these precious old gays, so it only seems right that I return to my roots.
> 
> This idea was originally concocted back when there was discourse about female athletes being referred to as "such-and-such's wife" (which tells you how long I've been thinking about and writing on this project) and how much Ratchet would hate being in that kind of situation. And then it snowballed into this.
> 
> (also yes, there is an OC that plays a somewhat big part, but like. I needed a slimy PR guy. I didn't have a choice. So hopefully you love to hate Spinmaster the way that I do.)

Ratchet hadn’t thought anything about the summons to Optimus’s office.

He had just filed his official recommendation that the next hospital be built in the south end of Iacon, which considering he was the Chief Medical Officer meant it would be taken as law. That in turn meant there was a very real chance that some uppity Neutral would come banging on Optimus’s door begging him to speak to his CMO. As if Ratchet was any happier with the choice. But despite how they all felt, the remains of Megatron’s now defunct army lived among them now and the former warriors needed medical attention more than the Neutral citizens who had spent the millennia of war on peaceful city-ships.

And the very idea that Optimus would be able to sway Ratchet’s opinion on medical decisions was ridiculous.

Never mind the fact that Ratchet had come to the conclusion by talking it out to himself while sprawled across the Prime’s chest with large, warm servo stroking his back and his lover patiently listening. Optimus knew full and well why Ratchet had made his decision and had agreed it was a good one before they finally fell into recharge.

But no one need know those details. Better everyone continue to assume they were just good friends and comrades.

So Ratchet wasn’t worried. He could handle entitled Neutrals. Optimus was trapped in the terrible position of suddenly having to balance his duties as Prime between his Autobots, Megatron’s abandoned Decepticons, and the unwieldy Neutrals, so he had to appear impartial and polite and caring.

Ratchet had no such burden. He hadn’t owed his own Autobots fake smiles, so he certainly wouldn’t pull any out for any other mecha.

Putting a whiny Neutral in their place was easy.

However, when the door slid open to reveal a handful of mecha around Optimus’s desk, Ratchet started to worry.

Especially when Spinmaster turned and greeted Ratchet with a wide and too bright smile

“Ratchet! The other mech of the hour!” he crowed as he stepped away from the desk to turn towards Ratchet. The optics of Spinmaster’s staff all turned to Ratchet as well, but it was Spinmaster’s focused gaze that made Ratchet feel like a cornered turborabbit. So far as he was concerned the Public Relations expert was a necessary evil, but Ratchet avoided him at all costs. There was just something so unnerving about the copter who seemed hyper aware of his audience at all times and thrived under it.

Optimus, now more public figure and servant than army general, unfortunately needed mecha like that as advisors.

But Ratchet had managed to avoid more than a couple moments of small talk with Spinmaster. He may be the CMO, but the position rarely saw him actually engaging in public speaking, and Ratchet’s reputation preceded him enough to garner respect from the mecha who mattered. The rest of the population usually forgot about him. His held a prestigious and important position, but it wasn’t flashy or tantalizing.

Ratchet didn’t need Spinmaster to worry about him.

He didn’t  _want_ Spinmaster to worry about him.

And also—

“Other?” Ratchet stammered, confused enough at being singled out, but further more in junction with someone else. “Sorry, what is this about?”

“Spinmaster, will you excuse us?” Optimus said, worded as a question but spoken as an order. Ratchet’s sparkrate picked up at hearing the nearly undetectable irritation in the Prime’s voice. To be detectable at all spoke volumes.

Spinmaster’s grin didn’t falter for even a moment as he turned back to Optimus and gave a curt little bow. “Of course. I only humbly request haste in the matter since time is of the essence–”

“I’m well aware.”

Oh Primus. Whatever was the matter, Optimus was  _angry_ about it. Normally, the rare occurrence would get Ratchet’s energon pumping, but knowing he was involved in whatever mess had caused it made him wary.

Spinmaster and his entourage made a hasty retreat and finally Ratchet could see Optimus.

The door closed behind Ratchet and optics burning with rage shifted to regret.

“Dare I ask what this is all about?” Ratchet asked as he made his way across the office, going around the desk itself so he could stand by Optimus. The Prime gave a long ex-vent and with each step closer Ratchet came, the anger dissipated to reveal how tired Optimus was. “It’s not about the hospital, is it?”

“If only,” Optimus admitted as he spun his chair so they could face each other. With his hip leaned against the desk edge, Ratchet was barely any taller than the seated Prime. “That you could handle all on your own, old friend.”

“And what makes you so sure I can’t handle whatever this is?” Ratchet said, trying to keep his tone light to comfort Optimus. “I think millennia of war show I can be creative when needed.”

Optimus’s expression didn’t so much as shift though. However, his servo reached out, and despite his surprise, Ratchet’s opened so they could intertwine.

They rarely allowed themselves to show affection outside of their private quarters, and never in some place as official as Optimus’s office.

“Optimus?”

The Prime’s optics cycled down, dimming.

“A photographer spotted us leaving your quarters this morning.”

Ratchet’s spark froze.

“What? But that’s—no one should be able to–!”

“I know, and they are being dealt with accordingly for trespassing,” Optimus said, now the one reassuring as his servo squeezed Ratchet’s. “However, the photos were already leaked, so there is nothing that can be done about them.”

Photos.

Ratchet finally noticed the datapads strewn across the desk, still alight and displaying grainy images. They had to have been taken from a long ways away and highly zoomed in considering the quality, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still clean enough to make the contents clear. Like a terrible mixed up chronology, there were images of Ratchet opening his door, stepping out, and then Optimus behind, Optimus grabbing his wrist and pulling him in while dipping down, and their goodbye kiss before parting ways—

Optimus’s servo creaked under the pressure of Ratchet’s grip.

The secret was out.

Thousands of years of highly practiced sneaking around, perfectly worded explanations and excuses for extended moments together alone, and millions of blatant lies to cover their tracks–

In an instant, none of it mattered.

“Scrap.”

Optimus didn’t respond right away. Instead he reached out his free servo to cup Ratchet’s cheek and pull his face away from the glaring evidence of their relationship – their  _leaked_ relationship, their relationship that was no one’s business but within moments was suddenly  _everyone’s_  business—

“Ratchet.”

Finally, Ratchet tore his optics away from the images to look at Optimus’s face.

The Prime looked as mournful as Ratchet felt.

“I’m sorry, but we can no longer hide our relationship.”

And suddenly, with nauseating horror, Ratchet understood why Spinmaster was waiting outside the office door. They had been forcefully outed and the PR consultant was here to do what he did best: spin it.

Ratchet felt sick.

“What does that energon-thirsty scraplet want you to do about it?”

“Us,” Optimus corrected, voice suddenly stern as his servo drifted from Ratchet’s face to grasp his other servo. “I told him any decision that we make will be together and I mean to stand by that. I will not force you.”

Ratchet frowned as he replied, “Your reputation is more important than mine, Optimus. You’re a  _Prime_.”

Optimus’s hold tightened.

“Not in this relationship, Ratchet. You know that,” he gently chastised. An old argument put to rest ages ago by finally deciding to keep their relationship private. So long as no one else could bring Optimus’s Primehood into their relationship unbidden and unwanted, they could just be two mecha in love. “You are my lover and I am yours, and this does not change that. So we will make our way through this together.”

Ratchet’s frown wavered, spark swelling in his chest, and he let out a long ex-vent and nodded.

“You’re right as always, you slagger,” Ratchet grumbled and Optimus’s face relaxed for a moment, nearly smiling.

“We both know that isn’t true.”

Ratchet shrugged and oh, it was easy to forget, for a moment. Easy to slide into the comfortable embrace of their love. But the datapads with images of themselves glared up at him in the periphery of his vision.

With slumped shoulders, Ratchet braced himself as he said, “Alright, no point in putting it off. Just tell me.”

There was a long moment then as Optimus’s gaze shifted to their servos, optic ridges furrowed and his mouth a tight line.

“I know we decided against it,” Optimus began carefully, “and in truth I do not believe it was ever necessary for us. We are bonded in every way except written on an official form, and I have never doubted the strength and endurance of that bond. However, Spinmaster believes it will not only quell any concerns about our relationship, but could even boost the morale of the population–”

“By the Allspark,” Ratchet interrupted, incredulous. “Are you asking me to be your conjunx?”

Optimus finally looked up at him apologetically and Ratchet’s spark twisted unpleasantly.

“You know I already consider you such–”

“Oh frag  _off_ , you are!” Ratchet felt indignation well up in his chassis as he pulled his servos out of Optimus’s hold. “Really?! Our personal affairs are slathered across the net for every nosy fragger on this ruin of a planet to gawk at, and you want to have a bonding ceremony for them?!”

Optimus frowned, unsurprised and resigned, and then Ratchet turned on his pede to pace. “Again, it was not my idea. However, it is true that there are some mecha who believe bonding should happen within a ceremonially sanctioned bond–”

“Who cares about outdated prudes!”

“There were at least two city-ships where that was the cultural norm.”

“So I’m expected to abide by their archaic beliefs?!”

“No, of course not. However, it is an additional benefit.”

“To  _what_?!” Ratchet whirled around, servos thrown up. “What benefits are there to this farce?!”

Optimus stiffened and rose to his own pedes. “Ratchet, this wouldn’t be a farce so much as – as exaggeration of the truth.”

“Oh, and doesn’t that sound prettier than admitting we’d be having a fragging bonding ceremony for everyone but ourselves,” Ratchet sneered, stomping up to the desk opposite to Optimus. The frown on his lover’s face deepened. “But no, please, don’t let me stop you. Tell me the other reasons why I should parade my spark around for the sake of Cybertron!”

Optimus’s servos were fisted at his sides as he cycled a ventilation.

“I understand that you’re upset–”

“Our privacy has been violated and you want to solve it by putting on a show for them–!!”  

“ _Ratchet._ ” There it was again – that anger that had skirted the edges of his tone when Ratchet had first entered the office. But it was gone just as quickly as Optimus looked down at the datapads on the desk and stated, “Neither of us are going to be happy about whatever decision we make because we did not choose to be here in the first place. Nevertheless, what’s happened has happened and we  _must_  make a decision. So please–”

Optimus trailed off, but Ratchet knew him well enough to know.

_Please don’t yell at me_.

Ratchet’s spark managed to tie itself into a tighter knot. Indignation and humiliation still burned white hot across his processor and down the circuits in his frame, priming every system to prepare for a fight, being it yelling or thrashing or punching, whatever it took to get rid of this trap he found himself in. This was  _his_  life,  _his_  spark,  _his_  lover–

With a shudder, Ratchet offlined his optics and forced himself through several ventilation cycles.

It wasn’t  _fair_. He didn’t want this!

But still, the turmoil quieted to a dull roar, and Ratchet finally looked up at Optimus.

“I’m sorry.”

Optimus’s fists eased and he released the ventilation he had held.

“It’s alright. This situation is… frustrating.”

Ratchet worried at the inside of his cheek before moving again. He made his way back around the desk to be on the same side as Optimus, and forced himself to be gentle as he coaxed the Prime back into his chair. Then, before he could reconsider, Ratchet stepped between Optimus’s knees and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, burying his face into his lover’s neck.

Optimus’s arms surrounded him and for a moment Ratchet felt safe.

And then Ratchet noticed the nearly silent electric pulse around Optimus’s comm receptor, and he snorted.

“Not enough haste for him?”

“He can wait.”

“Or you could let him tell me all the benefits. I wouldn’t feel bad about yelling at Spinmaster.”

Optimus gave a resigned ex-vent but his hold stayed just as tight.

“This is to be between us and only us.”

This close, Ratchet could feel the subtle vibrations of Optimus’s strong spark against his chest.

“Then let’s get this scrapshow over with.”

* * *

In the end, it came down to the simple fact that not addressing the photos wasn’t an option. The people of Cybertron would never stop asking. And if they addressed them but did nothing else, Optimus’s tenuous position with some of the more prudish neutrals would get rocky along with any citizens who felt they deserved transparency from their Prime. Never mind that as far as Ratchet was concerned, what Optimus did behind shut doors shouldn’t be their business.

The bonding ceremony would soothe those mecha.

And then there was the population’s morale.

Spinmaster had insisted that a public bonding ceremony would heighten good cheer as well as make the average mech feel closer with the Prime. By sharing this intimate moment with Cybertron, the population would feel united for a moment in the joy of love, their  _Prime’s_  love. Cybertronians across faction lines would feel connected.

Pretty words for exploitation of a sacred ceremony, but Ratchet supposed they were past that point anyway.

But the fact remained that both Optimus and Ratchet remembered the extravagant bonding ceremonies of senators and celebrities before the war, and unfortunately, Spinmaster wasn’t wrong.

Mecha loved a bonding ceremony.

“It would change nothing about our relationship,” Optimus reassured when Ratchet trembled with suppressed fury as he paced the office again, unable to stand still, unable to shake the feeling of being trapped. “It would simply be the smoothest transition for Cybertron to accept it. We can get it over with quickly and then return to our privacy.”

Ratchet huffed a disbelieving ex-vent as he gave Optimus a look.

“Do you really believe that?”

Optimus frowned.

“It won’t be the same as before, but it  _will_ settle down.”

“For you maybe,” Ratchet said with a dismissive wave, “but this is going to get me dragged out into the public optic too.”

“You’re the Chief Medical Officer–”

“—And the average mech doesn’t give a flying frag about their CMO as long as I do my job. I enjoy that obscurity. But if we have this public bonding, then the whole planet is going to know me!”

“They already do, Ratchet. These photos have made certain of that.”

Ratchet’s engine growled but he didn’t deny that fact. By now the gossip mills would have those images splashed across every screen, and someone would have identified him, attached his name and position to the picture of their Prime kissing him.

Ratchet was going to be a public spectacle. Probably already was in the time that they had been in this office.

The trapped feeling intensified tenfold.

“I hate this,” Ratchet hissed, servos fisted at his sides and shaking.

The creak of an office chair and heavy pedefalls gave away Optimus’s position until he was stood behind Ratchet. Cautiously the Prime’s servos settled on Ratchet’s arms.

“I know.”

The turmoil of Ratchet’s spark was painfully overwhelming, choking him with outrage.

But Optimus was here with him. They were trapped, but at least they were trapped together.

“Ask me the question.”

“Are you sure?”

What choice did he  _have_?

“Yes, so just – let’s get this over with.”

Ratchet let himself be turned and Optimus knelt so their optics were level. And while yes, they had long ago decided they didn’t need or want a bonding ceremony, Ratchet still couldn’t believe how despondent he felt and how crestfallen Optimus looked as the Prime asked, “Ratchet, will you officially become my conjunx endura?”

It was all so wrong, but they would make it work. If they could face a civil war together, surely they could handle some paparazzi.

“Yes.”

* * *

Within the hour, the announcement was made.

Ratchet supposed he should have been there for it – Spinmaster had desperately wanted the couple to make it together – but he did, in fact, have work to do. And alright, maybe he also needed time to try to recover from the horror of having his privacy ripped from his servos. Some hours spent in his lab fiddling with his experiments and reading documents from the hospital and going through certification requests was exactly what Ratchet needed.

And if he had shouted himself hoarse and made a few dents in his walls, who could blame him?

Ratchet hadn’t even listened to the announcement. Ratchet turned on a livestream, yes, but he muted it and continued to go through his paperwork until Optimus walked up to the podium.

The Prime had looked less nervous giving battle speeches.

But Ratchet only noticed because he had been watching Optimus closely for thousands of years. He knew every which way the Prime’s face could shift, every swing of his arms and twitch of his digits, and Ratchet knew what it all meant. Optimus did not want to make this speech and did so only out of obligation. A sacrifice that was so small in the scheme of things, but a sacrifice nonetheless.

To any other viewer though, Optimus would look confident and even-keeled, and no doubt his voice was its usual deep and soothing tone.

No one would notice the slow cycling of his optics or the fakeness of the small smile he gave as his mouth formed Ratchet’s name.

Ratchet’s spark burned again but with it came pity. Perhaps he should have gone so that at least his lover wouldn’t have to face this hell alone.

But Optimus wouldn’t have let him. He knew Ratchet too well, and Ratchet was an awful actor. Better to be a busy and diligent worker who couldn’t make it than standing there looking like a vengeful spawn of Unicron.

So Ratchet just watched as their lives were forever changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter! Not that this is a schedule I actually aim to maintain, but for a while at least I've got enough to keep it up.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments/kudos on the first chapter! It's been so nice to play with these boys again and I'm glad y'all enjoy it too!
> 
> Also, uh. I guess consider this a bit of the calm before the storm. A bit short, but it didn't fit with the fist chapter or the next, so. Just a nice little bit to enjoy.

“So, which one actually came first: the photos or the proposal?”

“How did you get in here?” Ratchet grumbled, ignoring how Arcee was making herself comfortable on the edge of his desk to focus on the datapad in his servo. The two-wheeler shrugged.

“You’d be surprised the perks that come with reminding mecha that we were on Team Prime together,” Arcee replied. She managed to hook a digit over the top of the datapad and push it down so that Ratchet had to look at her, and Arcee’s gaze didn’t hold any humor despite the tone of her voice. “So. Do I owe you my congratulations or my condolences?”

Ratchet ex-vented slowly and finally laid the datapad down.

“Well, I’m hiding in my office and haven’t accepted any appointments, so I think you can guess at the kind of day I’m having.”

Arcee considered him for a moment before nodding and saying, “I figured it was the photos. You two never seemed like the ceremony type, and no offence but you’re just not fit to be a celebrity.”

Ratchet blinked slowly.

“You’re not surprised that we’re together though.”

“Are you joking?” Arcee rolled her optics and crossed her leg over her knee. “Ratchet, we all knew about you two. The way you looked at him was about as subtle as a punch in the face.”

Heat bloomed in Ratchet’s face as he scowled and snapped, “That’s not true.”

“Well, also, Bee did walk in on you once and confirmed our theories.”

Ratchet groaned with embarrassment while Arcee snickered, gracefully lifting her legs high enough to not hit anything as she swiveled around so she was sat on the edge of Ratchet’s side of the desk. “Relax, Ratchet. It’s sweet, and frankly you both deserve to have somebody. But all of this…” She trailed off, waving vaguely, and Ratchet nodded his agreement.

“It’s a steaming pile of slag, but it’s what we have to do.”

“My condolences then,” Arcee said, her servo patting Ratchet’s forearm.

“Thanks.” It was only half sarcastic.

Arcee’s servo grasped his arm then and her optics hardened as she added, “Don’t be afraid to call up the old team if somebody needs to be dealt with or something done, alright? You know we’ll take care of you. We’ll even make sure it can’t be traced back to you.”

Ratchet gaped a bit before saying, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Arcee smiled with an almost feral affection.

“Speaking of, you know who took those photos?”

And, for the first time that day, Ratchet felt his lips curl into a smile in return.

* * *

 

“Did you receive the schedule that Spinmaster sent?”

“Yes,” Ratchet grumbled as he tugged Optimus towards the berth. The medic had been waiting in the Prime’s quarters for hours, no longer trusting the security of his own. Optimus had finally arrived much,  _much_ later than he should have due to all his work being delayed by the announcement. Once all the Public Relations nonsense had been done, Optimus had returned to things that actually mattered since being a Prime didn’t make him a magician who could make the waiting paperwork disappear. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

And making their lives somehow even more complicated. With a tentative ceremony date a month away, nearly every day over the next week had at least one meeting about some detail or another to discuss and plan, and no doubt the weeks after would fill up just as much. Considering one of the meetings was labelled ‘Centerpieces’, Ratchet doubted his preference for something small and simple would even be heard.

Optimus tiredly hummed his agreement.

“We never had plans of our own and we both have more important matters to focus on,” Optimus explained as he fell heavily on the edge of the berth, vents wide open in a low ex-vent, “so I gave him the task of planning it. With our input and permission, of course.”

“Right. And I’m sure he won’t take that and run wild with it.” Ratchet pushed at Optimus’s shoulders until finally the Prime lay out on his back. “I’m surprised he picked such an early date.”

“That was my doing, actually,” Optimus admitted as he shifted so his legs swung up onto the berth before reaching out for Ratchet. “I assumed that it was best to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

With practiced ease, Ratchet took Optimus’s large servo and crawled onto him to sprawl out across his torso. Ratchet still sometimes missed Optimus’s old frame, with his narrow waist and gorgeous hips. But changing to a cybertronian alt-mode had at least streamlined the sharper corners of Optimus’s now hulking frame, and there was something comforting about recharging atop his lover, to feel the gentle whirring of slowly quieting systems and the vibrations of his spark.

And, truthfully, Ratchet  _had_ always liked large mecha.

Ratchet grunted in agreement as he settled himself. “And less time for Spinmaster to do anything too insane.”

Optimus’s chassis rumbled with an otherwise silent chuckle.

“Convenient, isn’t it? Almost as if I planned it that way.”

“Clever fragger,” Ratchet praised. Then, after a moment, he quietly asked, “Should I have been there? At the announcement?”

“No,” Optimus answered immediately, one of his servos moving to stroke Ratchet’s lower back comfortingly. “I mean no offence, but it would have been worse if you had.”

Ratchet ex-vented heavily as he gave a little nod. “I know. But that meant you had to do it alone.”

“But you’re here, aren’t you?” Optimus’s servo drifted up over the medpack on Ratchet’s back to stroke the back of Ratchet’s helm. “While this situation is particularly invasive, we have weathered far worse things together. So long as I know I will be able to return to the arms of my old friend, I will manage.”

Ratchet’s spark warmed, though he still pushed up enough to rest his chin on his arms and look down at Optimus. “You say that, but I know you, and you’re always taking on more than you should without asking for help.”

Optimus’s optic ridges lifted slightly as he replied, “A failing we share.”

There was no denying that, so with a huff, Ratchet just insisted, “Promise to at least try to tell me if you need something.”

“Only if you promise the same for me.”

“Brat,” Ratchet grumbled, even as he leaned into Optimus’s servo as it cupped his face.

“I think we’re both a bit too old for that.” Optimus’s free servo grasped Ratchet’s and slowly brought it to his face, pressing a gentle kiss against it. “But I do mean it, Ratchet. Becoming a public figure is difficult and it’s only because I’m Prime that you have to endure it at all. Let me take responsibility for that by supporting you as you have supported me all these years.”

“I don’t think being outed as your lover is comparable to becoming a Prime,” Ratchet insisted despite the lingering frustration and helplessness that would not leave the edges of his processor. Optimus’s gaze did not waver.

“Ratchet.”

With a frown that Ratchet would swear wasn’t a pout, Ratchet ex-vented and said, “Fine. I’ll try.”

“Good.” Optimus gave his servo one last kiss before releasing it. “And since we’re being honest, you don’t happen to know anything about what led to a certain photographer posting a public apology, would you?” That startled a snort out of Ratchet and Optimus’s lips curled into an affectionate smile. “Who was it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ratchet teased as he stretched out again, nuzzling into Optimus’s chest, comfortable against his lover and surrounded by the blanket of their familiarity. “Now come on, we have a Primus-forsaken bonding ceremony to discuss bright and early tomorrow, so you should recharge.”

Optimus huffed an ex-vent that nearly sounded annoyed. Nothing serious, closer to a pout than anything.

“Wheeljack?”

“Don’t know.”

“Arcee?”

“No idea.”

“Bumblebee?”

“You really think they’d tell me? Especially now that they know who I recharge with?”

“You say that as if they weren’t already aware.”

That had Ratchet bolting upright.

“ _You knew_?” he asked, optics accusing. Optimus shifted slightly under him.

“It would have been near impossible to keep it hidden with such a small team in such a small space, so I had my suspicions,” Optimus started carefully. “And there was the time when Bumblebee walked into the medbay when we thought the base was empty–”

“How am I the only one who didn’t know about that? In fact, how did  _you_ know he walked in without  _me_  knowing?” Ratchet demanded.

Optimus’s optics strayed towards the ceiling.

“You were rather occupied at the time so you wouldn’t have seen him.”

Ratchet’s optics shuttered offline as he groaned, “I was sucking your spike, wasn’t I?”

“I recall it being my valve actually, but yes.”

And somehow, out of the mixture of emotional exhaustion from the day and embarrassment and the sheer ridiculousness of this revelation, Ratchet laughed. It was all just so  _absurd_.

And then his frame was caught up in Optimus’s servos and arms and Ratchet found himself on his back, pinned under the sheer bulk of his lover as Optimus kissed his lips, his chin, his neck—

“Optimus! We have to recharge!”

“And we will soon enough.”

Laughter bled into breathless moans.

And when they finally settled down to actually recharge, Ratchet felt more at ease than he had all day.

It would be just one month. Surely they would make it through just fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be around tomorrow so update tonight!
> 
> also thank you all so much for your comments/kudos/support!!!! it all means the world to me <3

“—Now, while the entrance to the Hall of Records is ideal aesthetically and in terms of space, the fact is that some of it would be outside, which is a security risk. I’ve already spoken with some contacts I have among the enforcers, so we should know within the next two days if they could secure it or not. As long as that security can be handled, I believe this will be the location you will want to pick.”

Ratchet refocused his optics again, having drifted when Spinmaster had waxed poetic about the potential bonding venue for several long minutes. If the medic never had to hear about picturesque views and romantic balconies and all the decoration possibilities again, it would be too soon.

“But! If that is an issue, I have several back up options. For example, there’s the Observatory which would be a phenomenal choice as well. We should be able to fit nearly as many guests–”

“Are there any small options?” Ratchet interrupted, hoping to cut all this nonsense off at the start. Spinmaster blinked, optics cycling, momentarily taken aback.

“Something intimate perhaps,” Optimus added, better at speaking Spinmaster’s language than Ratchet would ever have the patience to master.

That had a large smile back on the coptor’s face, though he tapped his chin and hummed as he swiped through page after page on his datapad. “Yes, of course, something intimate. The best option in that case then would be… Watts? Do you have my backups?”

Spinmaster’s minibot assistant was at his side quickly, digging through her subspace to produce another datapad. Ratchet felt concern creep into his processor as he considered the fact that Spinmaster had needed not one, but at least two datapads to hold all the possible venues and their information.

“And there we go! The Celestial Temple has recently been rebuilt and would make for a wonderfully intimate and spiritual venue,” Spinmaster said as he brought up some photos and sent them to the datapads sitting in front of both Ratchet and Optimus to view for themselves. Ratchet had rolled his optics at the idea that it could be considered anything close to spiritual, but the images did seem to speak for themselves. What had formally been the Council’s chambers had been converted to something more fitting to the name. “It’s been remodeled by the mecha from Caminus and I’m certain they would be more than happy to let their Prime use it for such a grand occasion.

“And this is the most intimate venue you have?” Optimus clarified at the same moment that Ratchet noted the vast seating area surrounding the center pedestal. At least a few hundred mecha would be able to fit.

“Yes. So much so that I would have placed it much higher were it not for the fact that we would have to make some significant cuts to the guest list. But I’m sure we can make due if you feel this is a better fit for your vision–”

“Wait. Wait wait wait,” Ratchet interrupted again, not the least bit put off by the twitch of Spinmaster’s optic. Not when dread was rapidly building in his spark chamber. “Guest list?  _What_  guest list? We haven’t made any–”

“Not to worry!” Ratchet was starting to think he would see Spinmaster’s fake smile in his nightmares. “I’ve already created one for you and we’ll be getting to that next. Nothing set in steel or any invitations sent, and there is plenty of wiggle room depending on what I hear back from some of my contacts and whatever alterations you may want to make.”

“‘May’ want to make?” Ratchet asked, incredulous. To think that this pretentious slagger had the ball bearings to make their guest list–

“Spinmaster,” Optimus started, as if sensing the fight building in his partner and trying to cut it off at the pass, “in light of the variations in seating room for the venues, let’s jump to the guest list before making any decisions.”

“Absolutely, Prime. You’re very right,” Spinmaster said as he flipped through his original datapad. “Then if you would skip ahead to the third information packet on your datapad, you’ll find the list.”

“Third? What’s the second one then?” Ratchet grumbled.

Spinmaster, however, answered with a chipper, “Time of day, of course. I always love a morning bonding, but! First things first. Or, in this matter, third things first.”

By the Allspark.

Ratchet absolutely hated Spinmaster.

Still, he swiped to the appropriate info-pack and opened it to find a seemingly endless list of names. Ratchet scrolled through it, optics scanning, and after going through nearly a hundred names, he had only recognized two, and they were hardly anyone he would consider friends.

“This list is quite exhaustive,” Optimus commented, sounding perfectly neutral even though Ratchet could hear the wariness in it.

“I hope you at least recognize some of them, because I don’t know any of these fragging mecha,” Ratchet said as he continued to scroll. There were more now that he recognized, but all of them were Autobots with relatively high ranks. He liked most of them well enough and there were some he would have considered inviting.

“Most of them are neutrals who had high standing in their city-ships.”

“So you actually know them all?” Ratchet asked, staring at Optimus with wide optics.

The Prime hummed as he continued to scroll. “I have met most of them, yes.”

“Any names you do not recognize are conjunx or amica that will likely be brought along,” Spinmaster explained readily and Optimus nodded in understanding.

Ratchet was horrified. Primus knew that the medic met countless Autobots over the millennia, patients’ names locked away in his processor to be pulled up as needed. And certainly he was aware that Optimus knew a few more than even he did. But all of these names – all these neutrals that Ratchet had never had the time or reason to meet, but they were the kind of mecha that Optimus had to know now.

Scrap. There was no way Ratchet would be able to keep up socially with his lover. Would he have to now that he was officially out as Optimus’s partner? Primus might as well just strike him where he stood if Ratchet had to learn all these names and attach them to faces before the bonding ceremony.

That was far too many mecha that Ratchet didn’t know who would be in the same room as him and Optimus when they merged sparks.

Spinmaster must have noticed the concern twisting Ratchet’s face because he was almost immediately at the medic’s side, eager to comfort as he said, “No worries though. I know it must seem overwhelming, but the list is easily organized and you can search within it to make sure that any guests you want to be there for your big day are accounted for. There’s even a tab to separate out guests by faction, former or current, so please feel free to check through the Autobots and let me know if I’ve missed anyone. ”

While that didn’t make Ratchet feel any more comfortable about the massive number of mecha he didn’t know attending, he tried to be accommodating. This wasn’t about him, after all. This was politics. This was problem-solving. This was—

Next to the Autobot tab was a Decepticon (Former) tab.

“What is this?”

With a glance, Spinmaster saw Ratchet’s screen and was immediately making comforting gestures, explaining, “I should have mentioned that this is a preliminary list and as such includes some names that I have not confirmed can be invited. The majority of the guests who were formerly Decepticons are dependent on the security of the venue chosen and on what I hear back from some contacts I have who socialize with them–”

Ratchet only half listened to the placating words as he opened the tab and scanned the list, his spark coiling and heating with outrage with every Decepticon he recognized.

“—and I know that it may be a little uncomfortable, but considering Prime’s desire for greater integration, I thought this would be a lovely opportunity–”

Ratchet thought for a moment that he had glitched. Because surely that wasn’t right, it couldn’t be–

“ _Soundwave_?! You have  _Soundwave_  as a potential guest?!” Ratchet roared, lifting and brandishing his datapad angrily.

“In terms of potential gains versus risks, Soundwave would make for a good guest choice,” Spinmaster replied, his smile slipping before he simply replaced it with that damned look that said ‘I’m pretending to understand’. “He is a highly recognizable figure who has been nothing but well behaved and who keeps to himself. Having Soundwave there would show Prime reaching out for those wayward mecha, which is exactly what we want. And then, let’s be honest, the likelihood that he would do anything disruptive is infinitesimally small. Low risk with high reward.”

Ratchet sneered at the thought. Once the city was settled enough that Optimus felt it safe, he had decided to release Soundwave from the Shadowzone. It was still too kind-sparked a gesture in Ratchet’s opinion, but it had worked out better than he had expected. Once on Cybertron, Soundwave wasted no time flying off into the ruins in search of his self-exiled Megatron. Whatever he found out there, in those weeks before returning, must have proven to Soundwave once and for all that yes, the war was over. Megatron had admitted defeat and dismissed the Decepticon army.

Soundwave returned and said – breaking his silence as he did – that he recognized the Autobot victory.

And then Soundwave had all but locked himself away in some small apartment with his remaining cassette, seemingly satisfied to live alone with Laserbeak and detached from the rest of the city. He did not involve himself in politics that Ratchet was aware of or that Optimus ever mentioned.

Soundwave was also, at one point, a mech that Ratchet had considered a friend. It was long ago and forever marred by the war but it was a fact that Ratchet could not deny.

“Fine,” Ratchet grunted. “Depending on the security, I suppose I can allow it. I’m already putting up with hundreds of neutrals I’ve never met anyway so why the frag not throw in a couple mecha who used to want us dead? I can at least recognize them.”

Spinmaster was grinning again, completely ignoring the ill-will as his rotors arched high on his back and he immediately started talking at length about the security measures they could take. And, more importantly to Ratchet, he felt Optimus release an ex-vent that he had been holding.

Ratchet shot him a look, ridges raised and optics cycling narrower, and Optimus at least had the decency to look apologetic.

Decepticons! At his bonding ceremony!

It was only the first day of planning and already Ratchet wanted to just go back to his office and never emerge again. But Ratchet reminded himself that surely he could manage it. He had agreed to this and he was going to see this Pit-destined ceremony through.

This was important for Optimus.

Ratchet told himself that over and over again as he returned to his datapad and continued his scrolling. This was for Optimus. This was for Optimus. This was for—

Ratchet saw red.

“Starscream is  _not_ coming,” he said, his volume barely raised but his tone definite.

Spinmaster barely caught his exasperated ex-vent.

“Starscream is  _the_ most politically significant  _former_  Decepticon–”

“–And he’s  _not coming_.”

“If the ceremony happens at the Temple, security will be easy, and of course all guests will be checked for weapons, so there would be no need to be concerned–”

“I don’t care!” Ratchet snapped, heat pouring out from between his plating as he got to his pedes. He didn’t have Optimus’s height or weight, but Ratchet was no slight mech, and he knew how to use his heft to his advantage, towering over the spindly copter. “It will be a cold day in the Pits before I let  _Starscream_ be invited to my bonding ceremony!”

Spinmaster’s optics cycled a little wider and then he turned his helm slightly, glancing over at Optimus. “Sir?”

And then Ratchet turned his optics towards Optimus as well, furious when Optimus had the nerve to look conflicted.

“Don’t you dare take his side on this,” Ratchet warned. “Starscream has gotten too close to offlining you more times than I care to count, so I’m  _not_ going to let him be in the same room as your exposed spark.”

Optimus in-vented, clearly preparing himself before replying, “The same could be said of several former Decepticons, including Soundwave.”

“Sure, but at least I understand how Soundwave tics.” Ratchet turned to fully face Optimus, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s a dangerous weapon, but he’s just that – a weapon. Without a cause or a mech to aim him, Soundwave is harmless. So unless Megatron drags himself out from whatever rock he lives under out there with the intension of ruining our bonding ceremony, Soundwave will just show up and then leave, likely without a damned word. But Starscream?  _Starscream_?”

Optimus frowned. “I’ve worked with him before, and he’s become far more stable–”

“So you would put him in a room with my exposed spark on display?”

That gave Optimus pause.

“I would never let you come to harm, Ratchet,” Optimus insisted, tone grave as he reached out his servo to grasp Ratchet’s arm, his thumb caressing his plating soothingly. Despite the very fact that they were literally planning a bonding ceremony, Ratchet’s systems still balked at the show of affection in front of Spinmaster and his aid, panic prickling at his processor.

Ratchet realized it was the first time they had wittingly exposed their physical affection around other mecha. He wanted so badly to relent, to relax and let Optimus hold his servo and reassure him, but a sickening nervousness kept Ratchet’s arms crossed over his chest.

How would he ever be able to merge with Optimus for an entire world to see when he didn’t even dare accept simple physical touch in front of an audience of two?

“It’s not  _my_  spark I’m worried about,” Ratchet groused, though even he could hear that some of the anger had faded as fear had him withdrawing into himself. His gaze shifted away. “I’m worried about yours, you idiot.”

“I know.” Optimus’s hold tightened, comforting, and his tone made it seem as if he knew far more than just that.

A moment of silence passed. Optimus didn’t relent. Ratchet huffed tiredly.

“You really need him to come.”

“I do.”

Ratchet sunk back into his seat, arms still crossed, frown still deep, but he relented, saying, “Fine. Invite whoever you need to. But I have one condition.”

Spinmaster appeared at that, unwelcome and with victory written across his face.

“Of course! I want to make sure that you both feel comfortable on your big day.”

“I want Red Alert to head the security team.”

The smile froze on Spinmaster’s face as he managed, “Well, ah, I’ll see what I can do, but the security team has already–”

“I agree with Ratchet,” Optimus interrupted, giving Ratchet’s arm one last squeeze before turning his attention to Spinmaster.

“But sir–”

“Red Alert will be put in charge of security. Now, since we want the smallest venue possible, let us go over the guest list and make the necessary cuts.”

It was a small comfort, but Ratchet couldn’t help feeling that little bit better when Spinmaster looked so put upon. “Of course, Sir.”

“Good. Ratchet, while Spinmaster and I make cuts, will you check to make sure all the guests we want are accounted for?”

“But that will mean even more mecha to cut–”

“It’s  _our_  bonding ceremony, isn’t it, Spinmaster?” Optimus’s tone was stern, making it clear that the planner would not win that argument. Not without making an aft of himself.

With one last huff, Spinmaster nodded.

“You’re quite right, Prime.”

And so the two of them got to work, flipping through thousands of names. They talked and debated, some names going easily while others were discussed at length, every political pro and con explained to reach the final conclusion. Ratchet at first tried to follow along, but by the tenth name that he didn’t recognize and at least the third space colony he knew by name and little else, he tuned them out. The Decepticon page was abandoned without a second thought – if Ratchet was going to relent to fragging  _Starscream_  being at their bonding, there wasn’t going to be anyone else to bother mentioning. Starscream was as bad as it got since last he checked, Megatron didn’t have an address.

So instead he flipped to the Autobots and read down the list. Truthfully, here at least Spinmaster had done a fair job, though that likely had more to do with the fact that Ratchet had interacted with the upper ranks more than most any other Autobots and thus most of his friends were among them. Their political importance was the more likely reason for their position on the list.

Each member of Team Prime was also accounted for, though again, likely not for the personal connection. They were in their own ways celebrities to some extent. Not nearly to any sort of degree where they couldn’t live the lives they had set out for themselves on the burgeoning planet in relative peace, but nevertheless. It wasn’t uncommon for their faces to appear on tabloids now and again. Primus, even Ratchet had graced a few himself.

It had never bothered Ratchet much. It was all nonsense and rubbish.

It had never actually been about his personal life. Not like it was now.

Not like it was going to be.


	4. Chapter 4

Optimus had worried all morning as Ratchet washed himself more purposefully than usual. Hell, while it wasn’t a word that Ratchet would normally use to describe his lover, there was no other way to put it than Optimus  _fussed_  as he helped Ratchet apply a new layer of wax on his plating. Ratchet was fairly certain the last time he had bothered to wax when it wasn’t time for his annual checkup was when he was made Chief Medical Officer of the  _Autobots_. He hadn’t even bothered when he was made the Chief Medical Officer of Cybertron – he was simply too old to be bothered with such vanities anymore.

Or, at least, he had thought he had finally outgrown them.

Ratchet eventually waved his lover off.

“Would you stop that hovering? You’re starting to make  _me_  anxious.”

Optimus looked unconvinced, and for good reason.

Ratchet was already, without a doubt, a bundle of anxiety.

Speaking wasn’t his strong suit. Never had been. Oh, he had bedside manner aplenty despite the way mecha joked about him – he could read individual patients at a glance and act accordingly. And arguing, well. No one would try to say he wasn’t damned good in an argument. Public speeches were less natural to Ratchet, but he had presented to other medics before the war, and had relearned the rhythm and cadence of it after.

But that was in small groups, or about topics unrelated to himself. It was about his patients, or medical procedures and research, or the good of the health of Cybertron’s citizens.

Ratchet had never had to discuss himself in any real personal manner that wasn’t with mecha he trusted.

Optimus leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to Ratchet’s helm.

“It’ll be fine, old friend. Just follow what we discussed and try to be – well, your nicest self.”

“Rude,” Ratchet groused, even as he leaned back to revel in his lover’s servos that grasped and kneaded his shoulders.

“Simply being honest. You know I love you, but you can occasionally be–”

“An aft.”

“–Abrasive,” Optimus corrected. “But you will be fine. It’s just a few interviews. And if you have changed your mind–”

“I don’t need you to make excuses for me. Like you said, it’s just some interviews. I can handle that much at least.”

"I know you can. But you do not need to if you don’t wish to.”

Oh, it was tempting. Ratchet had successfully managed to stay locked away behind official and private doors, not having dared to go out in public just yet, keeping his awareness of the chaos waiting beyond the walls around him to just the hypothetical. It was almost easier to deal with the frustration when he could really believe that at the end of the month everything could go back to the way it was.

But he knew he could not hide forever.

Not with Optimus as his bonded.

Ratchet let his optics drift offline as he leaned back against Optimus.

“If Cybertron is so desperate to get to know me, then that’s their folly and they’ll just have to live with the consequences when I give them what they want.”

Optimus huffed with amusement as his frame eased behind Ratchet.

Ratchet didn’t feel the least bit relaxed but hid it well as he let his partner finish applying his wax and give him a good luck kiss.

* * *

“You must be Prime’s intended,” said the mech at the front desk brightly when Ratchet arrived, the words accompanied by an awed expression as he handed Ratchet the itinerary and then led him down the hall.

“Look alive, folks! Prime’s conjunx-to-be has arrived,” announced the photographer to his aids when Ratchet was dragged into the photoshoot studio to suffer through the awkwardness of trying to present himself well in front of a camera he hadn’t known would be involved at all.

“An honor to meet Prime’s lover,” said the mech who would be interviewing him with a slimy megawatt smile that would put even Spinmaster to shame as she held out her servo to Ratchet to shake.

“Ratchet,” he corrected irritably. Already his plating felt itchy and too tight with the repressed frustration that he had to be the first one to say his own damned designation in this damned building.

“A pleasure,” she replied without missing a beat, as if she hadn’t noticed at all, too busy smiling and gesturing towards a pair of plush chairs. “Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’ll have my aid get you some energon and then whenever you’re ready we can get started.”

Ratchet would swear he could see the entire surface of the mech’s dentae with how wide her smile was. If the results of this interview were to only reflect on him, Ratchet would have well lost his patience already and let himself be belligerent and petty, because so far as he had seen, the staff deserved little better. They all looked at his face in a way that clearly belied the fact that they were thinking about Optimus. It was insulting.

But this would reflect on Optimus. This was public politics that Ratchet was stepping into and it wasn’t his career that was likely to suffer from any backlash.

It took effort for Ratchet to force out a small wane smile of his own in return.

* * *

The day never improved. Different faces in different buildings had only the same sorts of questions to ask.

Some were so banal and dull that Ratchet just gave the same answers eventually. Questions about who he was – a medic, the Autobot’s CMO, now Cybertron’s CMO. Questions about the bonding ceremony – the date and the possible venues and any details that Ratchet could not give because he honestly didn’t know them. Questions about if he was excited, eager to bond with his lover, with Optimus Prime! – yes, of course, Ratchet had to lie through his dentae, telling himself again and again it wasn’t a lie so much as exaggeration because he was happy to be bonded to Optimus, the upcoming ceremony be damned.

The questions of how they met were a little more difficult, but Ratchet had been prepared for that.

“We met long before Optimus was, well, Optimus. He was still Orion Pax, an archivist at the Halls, and I was one of many med students who spent half his time being ordered around a hospital and the other half parked in the Halls writing papers and desperately fighting off recharge. It’s a miracle that we managed to form a friendship with our schedules, but clearly it worked out–”

Questions about how they had become lovers were expected, but that didn’t make it easy. It still felt wrong to talk openly about them being lovers at all, let alone to try to explain the intricacies of their shared lives in an easy to digest answer.

How could Ratchet ever explain the way that impending revolution and civil war had put a harsh halt to the way they two had been drawn towards the inevitable conclusion of their feelings for one another; how Orion becoming Optimus had uprooted their lives and shook their friendship to its core as Optimus flung himself helm-first into war and Ratchet followed on his heels; how easy it became to ignore the beating of their own sparks when surrounded by  _war_ , a war which well over half the current population of Cybertron had abandoned and never known and would never understand when reading some article in a magazine?

How would any civilian understand the quiet horror of being surrounded by death and the unfulfilled dreams it left in its wake, and how that constant horror finally had Optimus pulling Ratchet close on a night like any other, apologizing in the same breath that he explained he needed Ratchet to know he loved him?

How could they understand how Ratchet had wept in his arms with relief because he had thought himself condemned to taking his love for Optimus to his grave?

Cybertron wanted a cute story, not the melancholic desperation of soldiers grasping ahold of one another and hoping against hope it would not end in tragedy.

“I wish I had a better story to tell, but it was just a matter of one of us finally saying something. Optimus was always the braver of us, and Primus did I—I care so deeply for him.”

It was never enough for the mecha interviewing him. They would push and poke and prod with further questions, but inevitably they would accept that Ratchet was not going to open up about it.

“Shy” they had called him. “Shy” and “Bashful” and “Sweet” and any other number of words that Ratchet had never heard thrown at  _him_ of all mecha.

But he would have taken them over the questions that he and Optimus had spent their millennia together avoiding.

Optimus Prime was Ratchet’s  _leader_.

Ratchet was Optimus Prime’s  _Doctor_.

No one dared to suggest that  _they_  would ever say anything about the arrangement. Every interviewer would wave a dismissive servo or wear that sly look, like they were in on some joke they shared with Ratchet.  _I’m on your side_ their smiles said as they voiced concerns about work place ethics and abuse of authority and the possibilities that one of them may be taking advantage of the other.

_I believe you_ their servos on Ratchet’s wrist suggested when Ratchet would manage to sputter out the practiced response about constant communication and checking in with one another, because neither of them would ever wish to coerce the other, let alone take advantage.

Because explaining that amongst the Autobots, Optimus had been  _everyone’s_ leader and Ratchet had been  _everyone’s_ doctor, and that the idea of committing themselves to loneliness with no end in sight was too horrible to consider–

–It wasn’t terribly romantic either.

No amount of assurance in the interviewers’ voices comforted Ratchet. Every damned time the next interviewer would start talking in that too-sweet voice, Ratchet’s spark would twist, knowing it was coming and wishing that just this once they wouldn’t ask and thus remind him of all those mecha out there who would think the worst of their coupling.

Ratchet wasn’t sure which was worse: that they would think Ratchet was taking advantage of Optimus, or that Optimus was taking advantage of him.

Both made him feel sick to consider.

And then would come questions he hadn’t seen coming. No doubt they were meant to be palate cleansers since they were all the sorts of questions Ratchet would have expected to be asked around groups of newly forged mecha.

“Now, we’re all dying to know. What is Optimus like behind closed doors? Is he—”

“—romantic?” most interviewers started with, as if they were imagining Optimus like some mech out of a romantic novel, carrying frivolous gifts while speaking overly mushy words of love.

“—passionate?” the last interviewer jumped right to with a sharp gleam to his optics, and Ratchet knew at once he meant something far more lascivious.

Was he a physical lover like the photos suggested, easily dropping affectionate kisses while touching Ratchet with ease, and could the public expect to see more of that side of their relationship? Was he funny or was he serious or was he gentle or was he  _passionate_  – again and again each interviewer would finally ask that most important question.

“Is Optimus passionate?”

_Does he frag you?_  their optics asked when their voice boxes couldn’t.

_Is our great Prime also a great frag?_

_Does he make love or does he frag hard and fast until you’re screaming?_

_Won’t you tell us about every which way your arrays have aligned so we might imagine what it’s like to frag_ the  _Optimus Prime?_

Ratchet had never considered himself a prude by any stretch of the imagination, and yet found himself burning from the inside out from embarrassment and shame.

“I’m happy with him and I make him happy, and that’s all anyone else needs to know,” Ratchet managed when all he wanted to do was scream that it wasn’t their damned business.

The moments they had together – Optimus’s large and sure servos interlocking with Ratchet’s and the affection in Optimus’s optics whenever he looked at Ratchet and the warm timbre of Optimus’s voice when he asked Ratchet every night how his day had been – didn’t belong to anyone but them.

“Shy” they all called him again, as if that could be the only reason Ratchet wouldn’t tell them about the way their frames fit together when they went into recharge each night.

But Ratchet managed to make it through each interview, and if he got to experience some glee in seeing the brief flickers of frustration on his interviewers’ faces, that was something at least.

Until that very last interview.

“Can you fully merge?”

Ratchet’s spark stopped cold in his chest as his optics went wide.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I know, that wasn’t an approved question, but some of our readers are starting to wonder about that. What with the situation with the Matrix and all–”

“ _What_?”

Watts, Spinmaster’s aid who had followed in Ratchet’s shadow all day to speak with the other staff members and no doubt to keep an optic on him, looked up sharply at his tone, her optics at once narrowing at the interviewer.

The interviewer at least bothered to look abashed, but still continued even as Watts started walking over, “As our Prime, Optimus’s spark communes with the Matrix, doesn’t it?” Ratchet nodded shortly, processor still reeling with confusion while his spark only grew colder with some realization it wasn’t yet sharing. “Well then, when the two of you merge – if you have yet, of course, I would never assume –”

“Don’t answer him,” Watts interrupted, standing at Ratchet’s side, and despite her minibot frame she did her best to look irate as he gestured at the interviewer with the datapad in her servo. “That topic is outlined as strictly off limits so you best stop right there or this interview is over.”

“What topic?” Ratchet asked, irritated at the conversation going on around him. Since when had there been off limit topics? Who had decided that and why hadn’t they bothered to consult  _him_ about it? And what the frag was all of this about spark merging—

The interviewer’s optics gleamed like a predator’s as he spoke over Watts protests.

“Presumably you can’t merge with the part of the Prime’s spark that communes with the Matrix, so are you able to truly bond?”

Watts had started nearly shouting now, though Ratchet wasn’t sure who at and what about because all he could hear was the rush of energon pounding through his frame. The frustration that had built over the span of the day felt as if it was boiling over in his lines.

And the bitter twist of shame in his spark finally set his temper aflame.

“Do you  _really_ think that whether we can complete a full spark merge makes any damned difference?” Ratchet snapped. Watts placed a servo on his wrist that he shook off as he pointed aggressively at the interviewer. “ _No_ , you  _don’t_ , because that has  _never_  been a requirement for legal bonding and never will be. There are plenty of bonded who do not merge fully for plenty of reasons and their bonds aren’t questioned. So just get to your point!” Watts was desperately trying to placate him now, but Ratchet didn’t pay it any mind as his optics narrowed in their focus on the interviewer whose fake smile wavered. “Just say that you want to throw doubt on our relationship until I pour out enough sordid details to prove myself that your readers can go home and self-service to their newly-informed fantasies of what it would be like to frag Optimus in my place!”

There was silence for that brief moment as the whole room seemed to gape. The interviewer’s optics had gone wide.

And then a genuine, albeit cruel, grin pulled at his lips.

Another staff member entered the fray though before he could speak, his servos gesturing placatingly as his gaze flipped from Ratchet to Watts and back, over and over. “Now, now, clearly things have gotten out of hand, so please let me offer apologies on behalf of the magazine. We would never want to suggest any insult to the Prime and his intended–”

“I have a name!” Ratchet shouted as he got to his pedes, aware of how his plating was flaring out. When the staff member just stared at him blankly for a moment before continuing with his asinine apology, Ratchet growled and he turned away to stalk out of the room.

Watts was close behind.

“Wait, sir,  _Ratchet_ ,” she said as her short legs raced to bring her to walk just in front of him. It was the novelty of hearing someone else in the damned building say his name that had Ratchet finally looking down at her. There was something quick about the way her optics scanned his face, analytical and precise, and with a nod she continued, “Right, understood. I’ll handle damage control here and cancel the rest of your appointments for today. Security will be waiting for you out front to escort you back to wherever you’d like to go. Is there anything else you need?”

There were countless things Ratchet needed, the top of the list being a miracle that somehow he could have his old life back.

But that was impossible, so he shook his helm and escaped the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual gang, thank you so much for all your comments and kudos and general support!!!! it means so so so much to me ;^;
> 
> We're starting to get into the real nitty gritty nastiness that comes with being famous, but because of your partner, oops


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